Blood Price
by Artemis Bloodshadow
Summary: PreHBP Samara Shoreglade wanted to know who she was and where she came from, but when her family is murdered, she may learn more than she was ever ready to know. Revenge is a dark thing, as is the mind. DracoxOC WARNING: WILL GET EXTREMELY DARK
1. Prologue: Pain

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowlings does...

(A.N.) This is pre-HBP. I've had the idea for a while, plus the whole thing doesn't work out if I include the sixth book...

Blood Price

Prologue

* * *

I live in a cage. 

Oh, it's a pretty cage to be sure, but a cage nonetheless. I'm imprisoned by the fears of others, and ignorance. I've been tethered by the lack of knowledge of my own life, my family, and my past. Who am I? Who did I get these eyes from? Or the color of my hair?

And what about my powers?

I understand that I am a witch, and that I can wave a wand and make extraordinary things happen. I've seen animals turned into furniture, people turn into animals, death in a bottle, and divination. But who were my parents?

There was a time when I thought I was Muggle-born, but I was assured that my parents were both magical, and so had their families. But no one will tell me who I am or why they won't tell me.

I don't know anything.

I want to know if I look like my real mother, or if my gift for potions comes from a grandfather. I just... I just don't want to be caged.

All I can conclude is that something happened, and that it had to do with the lunatic, Voldemort. Why else would everyone be afraid to say anything? If there is another explanation, then I haven't found it.

I suppose that I shouldn't care. I have a wonderful life: my "parents" are kind magical folk; I get good grades at the academy...

Unfortunately, the school year just ended, my fifth year. Now, I can spend another summer without distraction. My thoughts will revolve yet again around the mystery that is me without interruption.

Merlin, give me a history test any day.

Stepping off the train, I look around expectantly, silently cringing at the thought of Helen hugging the life out of me. Little Helen, a seven-year-old witch, had the strongest grip of anyone I had ever met. She had been born about a year before the Shoreglades adopted me.

No Helen seized me.

Frowning, I looked around. Odd, they were nowhere in sight.

"Are you Samara Shoreglade?" one of the platform conductors asked.

"Yes, that's me."

The man held out a small slip of folded parchment. "Your family sent this for you."

Taking the note, I thanked the man and tossed him two Knuts. I unfolded the paper, smoothing out the creases.

_'Helen is sick, dear. We needed to stay with her. Please just use a Portkey or Floo to get yourself home._

_Love,  
Mom'_

Oh, okay then. I pulled a keychain out of my messenger bag, and pulled off a small house charm. Drawing my wand, I tapped the house with the tip, keeping an awkward hold on my luggage.

The familiar sensation of a hook hauling me into the charm, and a few milliseconds later, I found myself standing in the living room of my house. But something was different... The walls weren't such a dark shade when I left after Easter...

Then I saw them. All of them, lying on the floor. Staggering backwards, I heard the carpet make a horrible squishing noise. It was soaked through. It was soaked through with the same paint that covered the walls. No, no...Not paint... My mind rebelled against what I was seeing, trying to spare me the horror. It failed.

It was blood

Slowly; I stumbled towards them, falling to my knees next to the smallest body. Helen, little, sweet Helen... She was so battered, so bloody. Her stomach was torn wide open. I touched her forehead.

Ice.

She was ice cold, but the blood was fresh.

Tears leaked out of my eyes, a scream stuck in my throat.

A note was pinned to Helen's paisley dress. Numbly, I opened it and read: _'You can thank your blood family, Samara. If another mistake is made, you're next.'_

It was signed with the Dark Mark.

I was no longer caged. Except I never wanted anyone to pay for it. Especially not them...never them.

I was free, but at a price.

A blood price.

* * *

(A.N.) Just in case you all missed the warning in the summery, this will be an incredibely dark fic, so be prepared for that. Also, the updates here will be very irregular. If you want more of the story, then you must review. I will not update this story if no one is giving input. That would be a waste of time. ... Okay, now I'm just being a tad grouchy. Sorry 'bout that, guys. This is just one of my pet peeves. Sorry! One more thing, flames are accepted, as long as your civil. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 1: Prison Penalty

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Blood Price

Chapter 1: Prison Penalty

* * *

We stood outside the bleak, black walls of Azkaban, the Wizarding World's largest and most fearsome prison. Located on an island n the center of a great stormy sea, it would have been hard to escape from without a wand, but the guards… Oh, the guards. 

Dementors are the guards of Azkaban Prison. They are soulless creatures that can steal your warmth and happiest memories with their very presence. If a witch or wizard is in their proximity too long, he or she loses all rational thought and magical powers.

I looked over at my companion. Why had he brought me to this Godforsaken place? Dumbledore hadn't told me a damn bloody thing. When I had asked, the Headmaster had shaken his silvery head and told me that he needed to retrieve something.

"Come, Alastor," Dumbledore invited quietly, "let us do this quickly." He walked briskly through the prison's only door, and I followed warily. I had put most of these killers here.

Someone might try something.

The sounds of whimpering and mad whispers echoed off the damp grey walls. The aura of despair was palpable and thick.

I followed Dumbledore through the bleak corridors, passing a myriad of full cells. Wails followed our passage; hands reached through the bars. One skeletal appendage grasped my robes. Drawing my wand, I prepared to blow the crazy bastard off me, but Dumbledore stilled me with a shake of his head. He gently pried the gaunt man off me, murmuring softly.

He had always been the compassionate sort.

We continued on our way, with Dumbledore pausing time-to-time to peer into a cell. At last, he stopped fully, turning a kind gaze on the cells occupant. Looking in as well, I had to work to keep the surprise off my scarred face.

There was a girl inside. A young girl, no older than sixteen. She was curled against the stone wall, huddling in a corner. Midnight hair, greasy from being unwashed for some time, curtained over her face. Gray, thing robes were draped over her too thin frame, and some rags that appeared to have been torn form the tattered garment were wrapped around her forearms. The wrappings were covered with rust colored stains.

Dried blood stains.

"Samara?" Dumbledore said quietly, but firmly.

The girl looked up and set a haunted jade gaze on us. She looked frightened—no, terrified—as she curled even farther into the corner, reminding me of a dog that had been kicked one too many times.

I glanced sidelong at Dumbledore. Appearing slightly shocked, probably by the bandages, he spoke again, "Samara, it is alright. We have come to take you away from here."

Samara looked at us a long while. Finally, she whispered hoarsely, "Who are you?"

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This," he stated, gesturing to me, "is Alastor Moody, a retired Auror and a friend."

Slowly, the girl stood and cautiously approached the bars.

Up close, it was easier to see her in detail. Too white skin was stretched over prominent facial bones and her eyes appeared even larger than they were, a solid dark green, against all that white. Thick black lashed fringed the eyes, and dark circles ringed them. A small nose, but with a slight hook shape. All in all, she was actually a pretty girl. Not so much as beautiful as striking in the unique blending of her strong features. A face you wouldn't forget. She also reminded me of someone.

Her surprisingly small hands encircled the bars, causing the shredded sleeves of her robes to fall farther back, revealing makeshift bandages that I was sure continued past her elbows.

"What happened to you, girl?" I growled out, motioning to her arms. Someone had to have harmed her, and it wasn't the Dementors. They weren't ones for physical abuse. Just mental and emotional.

Samara turned her head to look at me. "I happened," she stated matter-of-factly.

Dumbledore pulled out a set of keys while I asked, "Why?"

"Sometimes… Sometimes a little pain, a little blood, can keep you from losing your mind. It's a small price to pay for my sanity. What's left of it, anyway." She shrugged.

The bars swung open as Dumbledore turned the lock. Samara didn't move a muscle.

"Samara?" Dumbledore's voice was a gentle as I've ever heard it.

"Wait a bloody minute, Dumbledore," I said, finally voicing a misgiving that had been growing since we had arrived, "What did she do to get throw in this damnable place? And why are we moving her _out_?" I looked at her with my fake eye, keeping the real one on my companion.

"I-I..." the girl stammered, a tear leaking from her eye, "I didn't-"

She broke off, choking on sobs that wracked her entire body.

I wasn't moved, having seen so many talented actors in my time. Besides, it was my experience that people always lie, even when they were telling the truth. Only a dose of Veritaserum would prove the honest of an answer.

"Alastor, I'm asking you to trust me. I know for a fact that Samara did not indeed murder her family. She only had the unfortunate opportunity to be victimized by Death Eaters, vengeful Death Eaters." Dumbledore placed a long-fingered hand on her thin shoulder.

"Fine, Dumbledore, but you had better explain this to me more fully in the future." Dumbledore was the only exception to my rule about people. He could be trusted.

He nodded. "As you wish."

With the girl between us, we made out way swiftly out of that niche of hell. I couldn't help but wonder why Death Eaters would move against this girl. They had come to collect some debt from her, obviously. But what could a teenager like her, besides Potter, do to gain such a debt?

What earned such a bloody payment?

* * *

(A.N.) I got one reveiw, but there were more hits than I expected so I'll try to keep updating on this story. Thanks for reading! Please review!


	3. Chapter 2: Pluvial Ponderment

Disclaimer: …

Blood Price

Chapter 2: Pluvial Ponderment

(A.N.) Thanks to all of you who reviewed! Cookies for you!

* * *

Finally! Finally, another year without the bloody Dursleys. 

I had stayed with the Weasleys for a couple weeks but that just wasn't the same as going to Hogwarts. Me, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were boarding the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Hermione was telling us about a camp she'd attended over the summer where she had met other witches and wizards from all over Europe.

"The students from Spain, Francisca and Hector, showed me some of the most interesting spells! Hector even showed me an old charm used on matador capes in bull fights And, _and_ he told me all about his family's villa in Madrid. He even invited me to come stay there with him and his family next summer!" she rambled on excitedly.

I glanced over at Ron.

He was fuming, as I expected.

Shaking my head, I wondered when the two of them would figure out what the rest of us already knew. They were going to end up together. Bets had been placed ages ago by the rest of Gryffindor House on when they would just start going out.

We parted on the train, Hermione and Ron heading off to the Prefects compartments, and Ginny and I going to sit with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.

A few hours and five galleons worth of Chocolate Frogs later, the Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Dark clouds had moved in to cover the evening sky, and thunder rumbled ominously with the occasional flash of lightning. The wind whipped around violently as students dashed for the carriages that would get us to the castle. All except the first years anyways, they went with Hagrid in a fleet of boats across the lake. The half-giant waved jovially at me before climbing into a boat that looked much too small for him.

I got into a carriage with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, thankful that it only started to pour _after_ I was inside the coach.

The ride to Hogwarts castle was short, Ron entertaining us with some of the stories of nutters that he and Hermione had yelled at on the train. "I'm going to enjoy this year," Ron babbled happily, "I'm going to get the Slytherins every chance I get!"

Hermione frowned. "Ron, don't you dare. We're Prefects! Prefects don't abuse their authority! I told you this last year, too."

"Oh, like Malfoy isn't going to," the redhead muttered sullenly.

My mouth fell open. Malfoy was still a Prefect? What idiot… Of course. Snape. Snape would have vouched for him, and Dumbledore would have, of course, approved it.

Again.

Out loud, I groaned. "You have got to be kidding. As if last year wasn't bad enough…"

Ron sighed, "Wish I was, mate. When I first heard, I thought I was having a nightmare. You'd think that after his bloody father's involvement in the Ministry thing last year—"

Hermione cut him off by sealing her hand over his mouth as a pang shot through me. Sirius…

"A nightmare? You mean like the dancing spider dream?" Ginny inquired slyly, trying quite blatantly to change the subject.

I laughed with slight relief with the girls as Ron turned a bright shade of red, his skin clashing horribly with his carrot-colored hair.

When the coach pulled up to the huge doors of the massive structure that was Hogwarts, we made a mad dash, trying not to get soaked.

We failed miserably, our shoes squelching as we trudged into the Great Hall, leaving trails of water behind us. Hermione frowned when Ginny sneezed and, muttering something I couldn't make out, she waved her wand and we all found ourselves dray and warm.

Sitting down at the Gryffindor table in between Ginny and Ron, I wanted the Sorting to start so I could eat. The chocolate frogs seemed far away as my stomach grumbled painfully.

"Harry," Ron said, sounding startled, "Look! Dumbledore's gone!"

"What?" Twisting around, I saw that he was right. Dumbledore's chair at the Head Table was empty. All the other teachers looked anxious and worried. Even Snape looked a little strained. Ginny, also noticing, asked, "What's going on? Everyone looks so dodgy, like something bad has happened."

"No kidding," commented Seamus Finnegan, my fellow sixth year. "No one seems to know what happened to Dumbledore. I overheard McGonagall asking Snape if _he_ knew where the Headmaster was."

"What did Snape tell her?" I asked.

"That he wasn't sure, just that Mad-Eye Moody was with him. McGonagall seemed to relax a bit when she heard that, but…" Seamus trailed off, shrugging.

I exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione and Ginny. We knew, probably, what was going on. Dumbledore and Moody had gone off on Order business. Before we could discuss it though, McGonagall led the new first years in and set up a stool and placed the Sorting Hat on it.

The tattered Hat sang a similar song to last year's, a song chock full of warnings and urging us to stand together through "the dark upon us". A scattered applause followed as the Sorting Hat bowed, and then there was stillness.

Briskly, McGonagall stepped forward and unrolled a piece of parchment, then called out the first name, "Albina, Sara!" The small, brown-haired girl walked nervously forward and sat on the stool, where McGonagall settled the Hat on her head.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat shouted.

Applause roared from said table.

"Anglican, David!"

Another frightened kid stumbled forward.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Cheering with the rest, I welcomed David to our ranks.

The Sorting ended when "Yorker, Kenneth!" became a Hufflepuff. The entire Hall waited in agony, me especially, for the food to appear, but again the doors to the Hall opened.

Dumbledore had arrived.

"Please bring the Sorting Hat back for a moment, Professor McGonagall. We have one more student to place before the Welcome Feast begins," he called pleasantly.

As he walked down the aisle, two others followed in his wake. One was Moody, his fake legs and roaming eye unmistakable. The other was cloaked head to toe in black, the hood drawn up to completely over their face.

McGonagall gave Dumbledore a questioning look. Smiling lightly in return, he motioned the cloaked figure onto the stool. Pale, thin hands pushed the hood back, revealing an equally pale, and feminine face with large eyes. Shiny black hair fell to the girl's shoulders.

"Look at Professor Snape!" Hermione hissed, leaning across the table toward me.

I gazed over at the vindictive Potions master. He looked thunderstruck. His black eyes darted from the girl to Dumbledore, and then to Moody.

"That's no first year," Ron murmured, oblivious in his wonderment.

That was certainly true. The features were too mature and she was too tall, around five foot five. Most of the first years barely made five foot one.

Dumbledore turned to face us, the students, saying, "This is Samara Shoreglade. She is going to be joining the sixth year class. Now, my dear Professor McGonagall, if you please…"

The Sorting Hat was dropped onto the girl's head. Silence filled the Great Hall as the Hat deliberated, and then it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

The said House clapped enthusiastically, if a little dubiously.

Standing, Samara walked silently to the Slytherin table. Her face was blank, but her gait seemed tired, reminding me of those people you see on Muggle T.V., the ones who've got a horrible burden riding on their shoulders. The ones who feel like there is a debt they can't pay that they either don't want to or can't understand. Or those victims on cop shows who have seen terrible that leaves them shell-shocked and numb.

Ron had a slightly different opinion. "She looks kind of like those blokes in Azkaban. You know, all spindly thin and empty-eyed," he observed.

The golden platters on the tables filled miraculously with food, and all discussion ceased as everyone heaped their plates and tucked in. Usually, the mouth watering food drove stray thoughts out of my head while I ate, but I couldn't help but wonder what had happed to Samara.

What was her story?


	4. Chapter 3: Pissed and Pressure

Disclaimer: I'm not sure why I bother…

Blood Price

Chapter 3: Pissed and Pressure

* * *

I wished, again, that everyone would leave me alone... 

All they did was ask and pry, trying to get me to talk/ But I won't, not to them, not to anyone. I hadn't spoken since Dumbledore and Mr. Moody had brought me here, to Hogwarts, from my cell in Azkaban.

It was only my first night here and I already wanted out. Sitting down on my four poster bed in the Slytherin dormitories, I drew the curtains closed around me and huddled silently among the green and black satin sheets. I knew I wasn't going to sleep. Sleep brought back all the nightmares and emptiness and fear. Slowly, that feeling of being swallowed by a void and consumed by what I'd come to know as the "Red Room" came, just like it did every night.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to will it away, but it did the metaphysical equivalent of laughing at me mockingly.

I reached desperately through the forest colored drapes around my bed, groping through my bedside drawer. A knife I had snuck from dinner found my hand. Clutching it close, I rolled my sleeve back. The Red Room was all around me now. Its walls a solid crimson, the floor slick with blood.

Bodies, three bodies, on the floor.

It was cold. It was _always_ cold here.

"No, no, no!" I gasped, shaking my head.

**You know how to make it go away, Samara,** a voice whispered in the back of my head. It was the Gray Voice. The Voice knew, always, how to make the Red Room disappear.

I placed the knife blade against my skin.

**Do it,** urged the Gray Voice.

Pressing down, the serrated edge cut into my flesh. Dark red fluid flowed as I drew the blade up my arm, making an inch long wound. Pain bloomed along the incision, chasing away the Room and the Voice. My eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the temporary relief.

After a few moments, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wrapped it around the bleeding cut, just above my left wrist.

"Samara?" a feminine voice called uncertainly.

God-fucking-damn.

Footsteps, and then a hand pulled the curtains back. I slid the knife under my leg and shook my sleeve down to cover my arm fully. I glared at the intruder, a girl, a simpering whore called Pansy Parkinson.

"Professor Snape wants a word with you," she informed me airily. She seemed vaguely annoyed that she'd been reduced to being a messenger-girl.

I gave her a look that I hope translated to "go to hell".

"He said if you don't come on your own, he'll send someone to drag you. And he'll give you detention."

Damn it.

Sighing, I clambered off my bed and, without looking at Pansy, ascended the stairs into the Common Room.

The other students stopped what they were doing and stared at me. One boy especially seemed to think I was there for viewing amusement. He was a tall youth with white blond hair and, I think, light…gray? eyes. From what I had been able to glean from the gossip at the Feast, his name was Draco Malfoy, his father was a Death Eater, he was wealthy, and he was good in bed.

The last was _not_ something I'd really needed to know.

Malfoy intercepted me as I walked passed him and his little gaggle of followers/admirers. To tell the truth, he _was_ good looking, and if I had been the girl I'd used to be, I would have flirted shamelessly.

Right now, I was tempted to break my silence and tell him to fuck off.

Seeming to sense my hostility, he spread his long fingered hands into a placating gesture. It would have appeared completely sincere if he hadn't smirked. "The Professor," he drawled, "wants me to bring you to his office."

Oh joy.

"Follow me," he added, walking towards the entrance to the Common Room.

Leading me down farther into the dungeons, he was surprisingly quiet. No questions, not jibes… It was…nice.

Maybe he wasn't the evil, shallow bastard I thought he was.

Malfoy brought met o a closed oak door, opened it, and motioned me inside.

The room was chilly, and the desks stone with stains all over their surfaces. A few cauldrons simmered over low flames at the head of the room.

No one was here.

I glared back at Malfoy. Ignoring the glare, he nodded and made a small hand motion, indicating me to move forward. He rolled his eyes too, saying, "Snape is always bloody doing this. Don't worry, though, he'll swoop in soon enough. He just wants you to be too creeped out to talk back."

Oh, of course.

Shrugging, I went to examine the contents of the cauldrons.

The first one I inspected held a bubbling dark green liquid that I knew to be a powerful and reasonably complex potion that caused the drinker to heal internal bleeding. The next on was clear and odorless. I wonder why he's brewing so much Veritaserum? Also a complicated brew.

I could probably get it right on the first try.

"Do you always stick your face near unknown solutions, Miss Shoreglade?" a quiet and cold voice inquired scathingly.

Looking up, I discovered the man who undoubtedly was Snape standing right across from me, on the other side of the table. Black eyes stared down at me from a long, thin, and sallow face. A large hook nose and thin lips kind of made him look like a corpse, or a Halloween mask. Of course, I was just being cruel because I didn't want to be here. Oddly enough, though, I was sure that I'd seen him somewhere before coming to Hogwarts.

His eyes flicked past me and he ordered, "Go, Mr. Malfoy. I have already spoken to you on these matters."

I head the door to the chamber slam closed.

Snape continued to stare at me. I gave him an equally annoyed look. What the hell did he want?

"You will not" he finally stated coolly, "do something that foolish again. In this room, you stay away from a cauldron you are unfamiliar with."

Fuck him. I knew what I was doing, glaring at him to convey this thought.

Completely ignoring the look, he continued, "Headmaster Dumbledore wants you to be looked after, and has instructed me to appoint a student to do so. For some reason, he believes you are a danger to yourself. That student will be Mr. Malfoy, whom you have already met."

Instinctively, I pulled my newly cut arm closer to my body and farther away from him. Snape's eyes darted to my left arm as it moved and, in one sharp movement, he had pulled my arm out over the pot of Veritaserum. He pushed back the sleeves of my robe and blouse and ripped off my makeshift bandage.

Shit.

Helpless, I could only watch as he took in the array of scars and half-healed cuts in addition to the freshest line. I could seem him put it together. Grip tightening, his expression projected anger. "What, in Merlin's name, possessed you to do this, you idiot girl?" Snape demanded, hissing.

Compelled to answer by who knows what, I whispered, "It… It helps. Cutting, causing pain… It helps drive that Red Room away." Out loud, I sounded weak, lost. It didn't sound nearly as bad when the Gray Voice said it.

"Idiot," he growled. Pulling out his wand, he drew me away from the table and tapped my arm. The new cut and the still-healing ones closed and were gone. "What is this bloody 'Red Room'?"

"It's just that, bloody and red and cold and—and…" I snapped my mouth shut. I didn't want to talk about it anymore. "Leave me alone!" I yelled instead, yanking free.

"You will cease this foolish behavior, Miss Shoreglade. If I hear of this from Mr. Malfoy, you and I will be paying a visit to the Headmaster."

A small tendril of rage uncoiled from deep within me. "Fuck you! It's none of your business what I do. If this is how I choose to cope with my whole family being slaughtered, then you have absolutely no right to interfere! It's my body, and I'll treat it how I decide! Who do you think you are? My father? Well, you're not. So you can go to HELL!"

I stormed out of the room, completing my childish display by slamming the door with an almighty crash, and went back to the Common Room. The large chamber was virtually empty, except for Draco Malfoy.

I did my best to ignore him, but when I reached the door that lead to the girls' wing of the dormitories, I glanced back.

He winked suggestively.

Jerk. Stupid, horny jerk.

Given that opinion, I still fell asleep think about my so called "guardian".

In the morning, I was surprised by two things: I _had_ slept, and that the Red Room had been kept at bay from my dreams by none other than Malfoy.

What would Freud say about that?

Then again… Freud didn't have Death Eaters who would swoop down and collect payment if his unknown blood family pissed them off.

I did.

So screw it.


	5. Chapter 4: Poison and Potions

Disclaimer: I think I'm going to stop bothering with these…

Blood Price

Chapter 4: Poison and Potions

* * *

My God… This is so boring. 

I surveyed the rest of the class, who were all taking notes fervently as Snape spoke. He was lecturing us on moderate and lethal poisons. Having learned about these years ago back at my old school, you can only imagine how dull that made this class. And this was supposed to be a N.E.W.T. level course? God, Merlin, and whoever else…get me out of here.

Glancing down at the parchment in front of me, I made a minor adjustment to my drawing. Who needed notes when I could draw Death Eaters meeting bloody and horrible deaths? This peticular drawing was of two Death Eaters being drenched in acid in full detail and movement. I loved to watch them convulse. Creepy? Probably. Still bored..?

_Fuck_ yes.

Unfortunately, this ceased to entertain me and I was left to fall into one of those lovely stupors where my eyes glaze over. My daydream of torturing more of the bastards was interupted when I was roused rather rudely some time later when Snape slapped his bony hand down on my desk and said, "I assume, Miss Shoreglade, that since you have no been paying any attention whatsoever, you did not hear me when I told you to begin." It wasn't a question.

So, being the smartass that I was, I yawned and gave him a questioning look. People, the Gryffindors mainly, sniggered quietly.

"Detention, Shoreglade. See me after class," Snape snapped. He turned his cold gaze on the rest of the class, who in turn began to get back to work. Amusing as I was (Yeah…right…), they were more afraid of Snape's icy wrath. Then, he walked away without telling me what the bloody hell I was supposed to be brewing.

Stupid bastard. He was probably still ticked from when I had yelled at him last night.

Sighing, I scanned what ingredients everyone else what grabbing. Hmm… Snake fangs, scorpion venom, cactus needles…

Oh, of course. Scorpius Toxin.

Yet another potion that I could brew with minimal help from a text. Getting up, I gathered what ingredients I needed and returned to my table. Rolling back my sleeves, I froze as I felt two pairs of eyes on me. As I looked up, I caught both Malfoy and Snape examined my arms.

Idiots. I had stopped cutting my arms. After my little talk with Snape, I had started slicing my upper leg instead. No one would look there… Okay, Malfoy might, but it's not like I'm going to let him… Well…

NO! BAD SAMARA!

I am disgusted with myself. My family was slaughtered, I cut myself up, I hear _voices_, I hallucinate, and I_ still_ can't help myself. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

While I waited for my solution to simmer, I tried to distract my thoughts by surveying the room. Heads were bent over cauldrons, and knives and mortars worked furiously over ingredients. So far, it seemed that I was the only one, despite my later start, who was in the last stages of brewing my poison.

No wait… Another girl was practically done as well. Playing with a lock of bushy hair, she waited for the liquid in her pot to finish cooling. She was farther along than I was. Next to her, a boy with messy black hair gave her pleading looks as his potion turned purple.

It was supposed to be burnt orange.

The frizzy haired girl gave her friend and exasperated look and wrote something quickly on a scrap of parchment. Passing it to him, the girl tried to look discreet and innocent. The boy read the note and then began to throw in more components with renewed vigor. About five minutes later, as I removed the Toxin from the flame to begin cooling, his potion had turned the right shade of orange.

Calling the end of our time, Snape pulled out a cage of horned toads. He then directed everyone to put a small amount of poison into a vial and to form a line in front of his desk. Moments later, I found myself sandwiched between the two students, Gryffindors I realized, I had been watching before. The girl, who was behing me, looked apprehensively between her vial and the toads, wincing when Snape fed the first amphibian some of the first student's Scorpius Toxin.

I could tell that the student hadn't let the snake fangs steep long enough in the scorpion venom before straining them out. The toad was supposed to go into immediate convulsions and an orange film was to coat the eyes.

The creature just choked some and died without any fuss.

Now what fun was that?

Snape scribbled something down, brushed the dead toad into a tank, and motioned the next kid forward sharply. Again, the potion hadn't been brewed properly.

The toad didn't even die.

Morons. It wasn't very complicated. All you had to do was read the directions. I wondered if anyone here was in the slightest possession of firing brain cells.

Another potion failed to produce the desired effect.

I was betting not.

Snape seemed to agree since he announced nastily, "Those of you who fail to produce the correct poison are to write a two foot essay on the Scorpius Toxin." Groans echoed loudly off the walls. "What was that?" the overgrown bat of man asked coldly.

Even I shivered at his tone.

"Yes, Professor," everyone said in unison.

Wow. That is just creepy.

The black haired boy in front of me glanced back, clearly expecting to find his friend. Moving to one side, I let him move behind me so that he could stand next to her and whisper whatever comment he had planned, seeming rather surprised that I'd let him.

Two more failed concoctions later, I handed Snape my vial and waited, bored, as he poured it down the toad's throat. I felt bad for the creature and vowed that I would be nice to any and all toads that I saw outside of class. I made extra promises over that when my toad began to twitch horribly as soon as it swallowed. Orange foam covered the creature's eyes and some came out of its gaping mouth. It was over in milliseconds.

A slight frown tugged at my lips. I had made it too strong.

Snape was frowning too. "What did you put in it, Shoreglade?"

The good little student in me was rearing her unwelcome head.

"I think…," I began, going through all of my actions when brewing the poison, "Ah, of course! I added hemlock shavings." Putting it in every toxin I made had caused it to not stand out in my memory as odd. Call it second nature. "It speeds up the absorption into the blood stream."

A dark eyebrow went up, but he said nothing.

Another scribble and I was free to go with no penalty homework. I went back to my station and sat down heavily. My eyes slid closed and I rested my head on my arms wearily. Nightmares had kept me up all last night, so I planned on taking a "power nap", but I didn't get a chance to since an arm wrapped itself around my waist.

Malfoy.

I looked at him from behind my hair. He was kneeling next to my chair, putting the top of his head roughly at my eye level. A small smile answered my glare.

It was a rather nice smile.

Goddamn it all to the burning fucking fires of bitching hell! I was not supposed to _like_ him or be _attracted_ to him. He was my bloody _babysitter_, a spy for that bastard Snape.

But _damn_, was he sexy!

Outwardly, I continued glaring. I was not going to let him know that I was almost fantasizing about him The hand that had been resting lightly on my side began to gently travel up and down, between just below my breast to the top of my hip.

"Get off me, octopus boy," I growled, trying not to enjoy his touch too much.

"Whatever do you mean?" he replied innocently.

"Now," I commanded. My patience was thinning by the second.

"No. _I_ am enjoying this," he murmured, sidling closer.

"Bite me."

"Is that," he whispered seductively against my neck, "an invitation?" I felt his lips ghost over my skin, his breath so incredibly hot. "Well?" I was rather speechless. Even my resolve isn't foolproof. That is, until his other hand came to rest on my thigh, squeezing it playfully.

This is the last straw!

"Get your hands off me, or I will make a woman out of you, you bloody man whore!" I yelled, slapping him soundly across his face. Hot and sexy or not, he had no right to touch me like that.

"WHAT is going on here?" Snape's chilly voice intruded.

Oh, fuck.

Both Malfoy and I turned slowly towards Snape and the rest of the class. Wide eyes and shocked giggles of the other students and the enraged gaze of Snape greeted us. He approached menacingly, his black cloak billowing out behind him. Surprisingly though, he wasn't glaring at me.

He was glaring at Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy," he hissed quietly, "if I ever discover you harassing female students in my classroom again, we shall skip a visit to the Headmaster and I will personally reduce you to nothing but a mutilated corpse."

Barely noticing as Malfoy's already fair skin paled, the room shifted slightly in my vision.A mutilatedcorpse… No, _corpses_… The dungeon walls seemed to fade away and were replaced with crimson ones. The floor tilted more under me, causing me to stumble up from my chair. No! Merlin, no! Go away!

**Just a little one, Samara. It'll make everything alright again**, coaxed the Gray Voice. **All you need to do is get a blade.**

I lunged for my knife where it still laid on the table among the remnants of my potion ingredients.

Two pairs of hands grabbed my arms, preventing me from seizing the blade. I shrieked wordlessly, struggling. I didn't want to see more of the Room. But it was everywhere, _they_ were everywhere.

Three bodies on the floor, broken. One was so small… Helen, O Merlin, Helen… Blood dripped loudly and heavily from the coated ceiling onto my hands. My hands…

My hands were covered in blood, crimson gloved, and sightless eyes stared at me accusingly. _It's your fault_, the eyes seemed to say, projecting all the blame. All the guilt.

I was guilty.

"My fault…" I repeated haltingly, the world swimming in a sea of deep red heart's blood. Everything was spinning violently.

A distant voice ordered, "Go get Madame Pompfry, Potter!" The speaker sounded vaguely concerned behind the frigidness of his tone.

The red void swallowed me, and I knew no more of the real, waking world. I was sucked into a world of bloody retribution and bodies.

And angry eyes.

And potions made of unspeakable things.

All of it coating my mind in a bitter poison.

* * *

(A.N.) Well, that's the end of this chapter, so please review, and then you'll get the next chapter as soon as I get around to typing it up. Thanks for reading! 


	6. Chapter 5: Pale and Patricide?

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Blood Price

Chapter 5: Pale and…Patricide?

(A.N.) Okay, so here's chapter five, after an incredibly long time that I appologize for. A big thanks to all readers, especially the reviewers, and to my beta, Serpent of Slytherin. Um, please enjoy!

oOo

She looked so fragile lying on the pallet, her skin barely a different color that the bleached white sheets. Madame Pomfrey was bending over her, worry creasing her brow. The woman smoothed back Samara's ebony hair, murmuring soothing nothings to the unconscious girl.

This is all my fault. Or at least mostly my fault.

I should've just left her the hell alone, but I just couldn't help myself. Samara is just so…wantable. She's cold and keeps herself distant from others. She's mysterious and, Merlin, she is fine. A pretty face and a strong personality.

I just _wanted_ her.

And I usually got what I wanted.

Everything except Samara. She was just…just so stubborn and independent, making her vastly different than the other girls in Slytherin.

Madame Pomfrey glanced back at me, noticing I was in the room for the first time. "Mr. Malfoy? Can I help you with something?"

"Just coming in to check on Samara," I answer casually, folding my arms across my chest and leaning against the door frame.

The nurse sighed and magicked a chair over next to Samara's bedside. "She's just fainted, Mr. Malfoy, nothing to fret about. Miss Shoreglade has just been overwhelmed. All she needs is some undisturbed rest," she said, looking at him pointedly. She glanced down as Samara whimpered in her sleep and sighed, "Poor dear, she's been having such terrible nightmares since she came in."

About what? She never… Never mind, even if she _would've_ told someone, she wouldn't have told me of all people. Samara _hated_ me. Which was infuriating since I wanted to shag her silly. Very, very frustrating, really.

I sat down in the chair and leaned on the edge of her mattress with my elbows.

Madame Pomfrey watched us for a while, and then walked into her office. She paused, though, at the door. "If the Headmaster or Professor Snape comes to see her, I'd advise you to give them some privacy, Mr. Malfoy. And do _not_ disturb her," she threatened as an afterthought.

Like I would stay in the same room with bloody Snape. I had _no desire whatsoever_ to get my ass chewed by that prick. Nor was I about to wake Samara up. She'd throttle me.

Pomfrey's door closed with a decisive snap, and I was left alone with Samara. Too bad it was not the circumstances I would have rathered. Staring out the long window next to her cot, I stroked her black hair back from her sweaty forehead absently. The minutes passed by slowly and in silence.

"What…the _fuck_…are you doing?"

Jumping, I looked down into Samara's dark green, _very_ awake eyes.

Covering up my surprise, I greeted her, "Good morning," I smirked, "Awake are you?"

"What do you _think,_ asshole?" she snapped, half-shouting, "Now why, in Merlin's name, are you petting me!"

I continued to pet her head, smiling. "Um…I love you?"

She smacked my hand away and sat up shakily, looking extremely tired. "Try again." Her voice was low, chilly.

And slightly familiar.

"Just trying to comfort you," I said, grinning wider in the face of her icy anger.

Samara glared at me, eyes flashing like glacier pieces. "The hell, you were trying something."

"Would I do that?" I asked, giving her my best angelic expression.

"You tried earlier, Malfoy. And failed miserably might I add," my fellow Slytherin growled.

Damn, she didn't need to remind me. It was embarrassing enough without that. Hell, I even feel _bad_ about it. Sighing, I said, "I am actually here to talk to you about that. I wanted to apologize." The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I _never _apologize, not anyone for anything. A Malfoy doesn't _apologize_; we do as we please and to hell with everyone else.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" she asked me irritably. "Gah, never mind. Fuck you, Malfoy," she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. My eyes followed the movement, taking in her thin body. I almost frowned. The girl needed to eat more. She was _too_ thin, almost emaciated. Her wrists were barely more than bones covered by paper thin ivory skin.

But, damn, I still thought she was gorgeous!

"Well," I drawled, smirking seductively, "you _are _already in the bed." If she wouldn't accept a sincere (gasp) apology, then I was just going to have to be my insufferably charming self.

She blushed. Merlin, she blushed! So there was something inside that pretty, cold shell of hers.

"See, Severus?" an amused voice commented, "She is perfectly fine."

Oh, _bloody_ fuck.

Turning to find Snape and Dumbledore standing at the foot of the bed, I tried to force my heart out of my throat and back into my chest where it belonged. How the _hell _had they done that?

"Why won't you people just leave me alone!" Samara screeched practically in my ear, "Get the fuck away from me!" She huddled against the metal headboard, looking rusty daggers at all of us. If looks could kill…

Dumbledore strode over and stood opposite me next to her cot. The old, kooky man laid a aged, liver spotted hand on her shoulder, speaking softly, "Samara, you need to try and move forward. That's all we can do. They wouldn't want you dwell on it." Samara appeared as if she was going to protest, but Dumbledore continued, cutting her off, "No. If you continue to dwell on the past, it will tear you apart." His blue eyes twinkled as he added, "And please refrain from lewd language. It's neither polite nor flattering for a young girl."

Samara set her mouth in a thin line and looked away. "I already have a little voice in my head, Professor. I don't need you as another one." Her voice wavered slightly.

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged glances.

I had a feeling that I was missing something. Something important.

"Samara, have you been hearing voices?" the Headmaster asked gently.

Voices?

"Of course not," she denied, mumbling, hair shadowing her face. She shifted her left leg, the one closest to me, away from Dumbledore. It was the same type of movement she had made when she'd wanted to keep her self-sliced up arms from view.

Now I know why she hadn't been cutting her arms and wrists.

Moving mast, I grabbed her shoulder with one hand and pulled back her gray skirt, revealing fine and numerous lines that crisscrossed her upper leg. "I knew it!" I exclaimed quietly.

"Leave me alone!" Samara lunged at me, pulling back her hand to slap, or punch, me. Presumably in the face.

I caught her wrists and moved behind her on the pallet, restraining her as she struggled furiously. Crossing her wrists and my arms over her chest, I pulled her back against me, causing her still.

Merlin, she felt good!

Leaning forward, Dumbledore inquired, "Does this voice tell you that pain will chase away your grief and loneliness?"

A small, meek nod.

"What if I told you," the old Headmaster said, "that you aren't alone?"

Snape gave him a sharp look. "I don't think—"

"She needs to know, Severus." He turned back to Samara. "My dear, your father, your true father, is Severus."

What!

She stiffened in my grasp. "W-what?"

"Severus is your father," Dumbledore repeated gently.

"Please release me, Draco." Samara's voice was perfectly calm. Polite and blank. She'd even used my name.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I told her, frowning.

"Please?"

Damn it, I couldn't resist.

Slowly, I let her go, reluctant to allow her to get off me. She leaned forward and swung her legs off the bed. Snatching something discreetly off the bedside table, Samara stood and walked up to Snape briskly, stopping directly in front of him.

Was it just me, or did something feel off about this whole thing? A bad feeling coiled sourly in my stomach.

"You…" the midnight-haired girl whisper, raising her stick-like arm.

Snape, Dumbledore, and I had a split second to realize she was holding her wand. I leaped off the bed, Dumbledore pulled out his own wand, and—

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" she roared.

Blood spurted and Snape went down. I grabbed Samara from behind before she could cause more damage. She struggled wildly, flailing left and right.

"You bastard!" she shrieked at Snape as Dumbledore knelt down to mend him. The wounds closed instantly. "This is all your fault!"

Madame Pomfrey burst out of her office, demanding wildly, "What are you doing to my patient!"

"You fucking SON OF A BITCH!" Samara continued relentlessly, not heeding Pomfrey's entrance, "I'll rip you apart! THEY KILLED THEM BECAUSE OF YOU!" Her struggles began to lose power. "They're _dead_ because…because of _you_…" Her voice tapered off into harsh and violent sobs.

Oh fuck. I didn't know what to do with a hysterical female. Well, besides screwing her that is.

The nurse fluttered uncertainly as Dumbledore helped Snape. Examining my Potions teacher carefully, I picked out familiar features that also appeared on Samara's much more attractive face. I could only find four of them: the nose, albeit it was much less prominent on Samara; the solid black hair, except that Samara's was shiny as opposed to greasy; the prominent facial bones that made Snape skeletal, but Samara pretty; and, finally, that cold, piercing gaze. Yeah, that was the one thing they shared down to a tee.

Well, I guess that explains why she seemed familiar sometimes: she had moments where she used Snape's "look".

Samara shook with anger in my arms, sobbing and muttering things in a black rage.

Snape sat up slowly, and Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey hovered next to him.

So much for a happy bloody reunion.

oOo

(A.N.)Well, that's it for now. Stayed tuned for chapter six! Please review! I won't update if I don't get enough reviews!


	7. Chapter 6: Past and Patient

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Blood Price

Chapter 6: Past and Patient

(A.N.) I'm sorry this took so long, but all my attention has been divided between school and my main writing project, Touch. A big thanks to all readers and reviewers. Also, this chapter has not been beta'd since she's not currently available. So bear with my mistakes. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

That bloody hurt.

I had expected her to be angry, sure. Resentment and shock I'd also predicted. But not trying to kill me…not with my own bloody spell. Oh, who am I kidding? I hadn't thought she would try to kill me at all.

Draco Malfoy was restraining my daughter with apparent ease while she struggled and screamed.

And sobbed.

Huge tears coursed down her face, and her green eyes burned with a terrible rage. I had known that her foster family had been killed, but how was that my fault? She had a right to be angry with me, but I didn't have a bloody thing to do with their murders.

Draco murmured something I couldn't hear to her and the effect was almost instantaneous: Samara stopped flailing and dropped her wand, and then turned her head to gape at the boy. I felt my eyes narrow before I could help it. I wasn't blind or deaf. I was fully aware of Draco's reputation and, frankly, I hadn't given a bloody damn…

Well, until he'd lain his Malfoy hands on _my_ daughter.

Merlin, I didn't have the right to be feeling protective. I hadn't even known she'd existed until Dumbledore had shown up with her at the Sorting Ceremony. Hell, it had taken me a few minutes to realize that she wasn't her mother with dyed hair.

I looked over at Dumbledore. "That went well," I hissed. This was _his_ bloody fault. Partly anyway.

"Now, Severus, I think it went quite well, considering." He said it smiling.

That's it. It's finally happened. Dumbledore has completely lost his mind, crossed the line between genius and insanity.

"It would go better if Malfoy let go of me," Samara stated sullenly. Apparently whatever he had said to her has lost its effect.

Frowning, Draco said indignantly, "I have a first name you know."

"And I have a whole bunch of other fucking names for you, Malfoy. Your surname is the most polite one. Now deal with it, or I call you 'man whore' from this day forward."

Nice comeback.

"I thought it was 'bloody man whore'," Draco teased. It took all I had not to strangle him.

"If you don't let go of me, motherfucker, I will beat you to a bloody pulp and then hex you until you're dead," she growled back, pretty much echoing my own thoughts on the matter. However, it didn't sound nearly as threatening from her as is should have since it was apparent that he was so much stronger that her. She must have gotten all that spirit from her mother. Rachel has been a spitfire, too.

Rachel…

"Miss Shoreglade," Dumbledore said firmly, keeping my mind from pursuing that memory, "you will cease trying to kill your father or harming Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy, please release her immediately."

When Malfoy complied, Samara stepped away from him quickly, glaring. As I stood up, however, I found that glare turned on me. Jade eyes, Rachel's eyes, stared into my own. She had Rachel's skin as well, a clear and flawless complexion that was as pale as alabaster.

But, poor girl, she did have some of my features.

The obvious was the nose. The only difference was that hers wasn't as pronounced as mine. She had gotten the color of her hair from me, instead of Rachel's light brown curls, and the prominent facial bones, as well. Also, she seemed to have picked up that cold gaze of mine.

"I think, Mr. Malfoy, Madame Pomfry, that we should leave them to talk. There is much catching up they need to do." As he spoke, Dumbledore rushed the woman and boy out the door and, after following then out, shut it soundly.

Waiting for her to do something, I regarded her silently. Having no idea what to say was a new sensation for me.

"You," she said quietly, "…I don't wasn't to have anything to do with you. Get out."

"Samara," I began, "I—"

"I don't want to hear it," she cut me off, holding up a hand, "You left me, have been absent all my life, and you got the only family I've ever known killed by Death Eaters. Which," she added, "I was blamed for and was subsequently sent to Azkaban because of. Without knowing you at all, you have already managed to screw up my life. I don't want to see how much more you could possibly fuck me over in person. Now _get out_."

That was the longest speech I'd ever heard her give, and all of it was about how much she loathed me.

Damn it.

"I didn't even know you were in existence, Samara. I didn't know your mother was pregnant, or that I was supposed to be there for you." I was trying to reason with her. She was my daughter, my responsibility. But I didn't understand, still, why her adoptive family getting killed was _my fault_.

"Go to hell. I hear it's nice this time of year."

She was going to make this difficult. The girl had right to be angry, damn it, but I still…

Wait a bloody minute.

_Death Eaters_ had killed her family? And they had told her it was because of me? Then…

Damn you, Bellatrix. Damn you to hell and back. This was her doing, and she was doing it without the Dark Lord's permission. _He_ wouldn't waste his time with Samara. If he was displeased with me, if he had found out, then wouldn't bother seeking a child I hadn't even known _lived_. This whole thing had to be her doing. All because of what? Of _that_..?

I shook my head forcefully. No use in think about it now. I forced myself to respond to Samara's statement calmly. "I've been there already." She looked at me sharply. "And it's not."

A flash of amusement passed through her eyes so quickly, I wasn't even sure it had been there at all. "Go anyway," she replied, sitting back down, "Go _anywhere,_ as long as it gets you away from me."

"We will discuss this, Samara," I promised grimly, "Sooner or later. You are not only my daughter; you are also my student and a part of my House. I will know, at all times, where you are and what and how you are doing." It was the truth. Especially since I knew Bellatrix wouldn't let this go, and that Samara was still in danger from her and her allies. Like Bellatrix's sister and her family, the Malfoys. I believe I will also keeping a close eye on Draco Malfoy, then. And all the other students whose parents answered to the Dark Lord and were allied with Bellatrix.

For now, though, I'll let Malfoy watch over her. I knew that he hated taking orders from his father, Lucius, and that's where any order for harming someone would come from. Plus, Samara spoke to him. Granted, it was mostly insults and threats, but she never said even that much to anyone else.

"Until that talk, Samara," I told her, "Malfoy will still be reporting to me."

"He can go to the bloody burning pit with you."

I gave her a reproving look.

She glared back at me icily. For a moment, it was like looking into a mirror, and damningly unnerving.

As I was about to walk out the doors, they were flung open and Madame Pomfry rushed in with Professor McGonagall. They were carrying a stretcher between them.

Pomfry spoke hurriedly, "What was in it, Minerva?"

"I don't know! One of the Slytherin fifth years dropped it in her drink, and before I could stop her, the silly girl drank the concoction unknowingly! Just wait until I get my hands on them!" McGonagall fumed as they set down the stretcher.

Ginny Weasley was lying on it.

"Oh, Severus!" Pomfry exclaimed, sounding relieved, "What is it that they gave her? Do you know?"

I examined the Gryffindor. She was shaking violently and she seemed to be struggling to breathe. Her lips were turning bluer by the second.

Something swished by me, and then Samara was at the Weasley girl's side. Startled, I watched as my daughter conducted her own swift investigation. It was like watching Rachel when she had volunteered her time to here, in the Infirmary, during our student days.

While checking Weasley's eyes, Samara asked in a very professional tone, "Do you know what color the liquid was?"

Frown more as she tried to recall, McGonagall replied, "Milky, with a yellow tinge, I suppose. And it was thicker than most liquids. Do you know what it is Miss Shoreglade?"

"I believe it is snake venom, Professor."

It was amazing how quickly she had identified the substance, and that she was suddenly so respectful.

Stepping forward, I added, "Most likely rattlesnake. Anything less toxic wouldn't affect her this much, and anything more would have already killed her."

"I have anti-venom somewhere," Pomfry announced, scurrying to her cabinets. Pulling out a slim bottle, she popped the cork and rushed back to her patient and, while Samara propped up Weasley's head, poured it down the red-head's throat. When the bottle was empty, Pomfry leaned back and sighed in relief, "That should do it."

Minerva nodded, also in apparent relief, and then motioned to me. "Severus, it was a member of your House who did this. We need to track him down."

"Fine. Who was it?"

As she led me out of the Infirmary, the last thing I heard was Samara saying "I'll sit with her."

She never looked up as I left.

* * *

(A.N.) Yes, it was short, and I apologize, but I do promise that the next chapters will be longer. I swear! Now, please reveiw and thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 7: Plans and Plants

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Blood Price

Chapter 7: Plans and Plants

(A.N.) Okay, so this chapter is very short, shorter than I actually thought it was. Damn me for writing it all out before typing it. And, it's also a bit of a filler chapter, too. I hope you all enjoy it anyway, but I can't promise instant satisfaction, much to my chagrin. Thanks to all who reviewed on the previous chapters. Hope you all keep reading and reviewing.

* * *

"Ugh…" I groaned as I awoke. What happened? The last thing I remember was taking a huge gulp of pumpkin juice during lunch in the Great Hall and then…and then I couldn't breathe…and...

Thinking about it made me take a deep, almost frantic breath, but a sharp pang shot through me and then my chest started to ache horribly. "Ow…" I opened my eyes fully and discovered the pristine white of the Hospital Wing ceiling.

"Ginny!"

Turning my head slowly, I found Ron, Harry, and Hermione sitting in chairs that were placed around my bed. They were staring at me. I hate it when people stare at me. But they were doing it in a concerned way, not a creepy way, so I let it slide. "What happened?" I rasped. Bloody hell, my throat was sodding sore!

Someone else, whom I couldn't see, walked over, shoes thudding confidently on the floor, and start speaking in a clear voice that reminded me of the air at night. Cool, calm, and dark. "One of the fifth year Slytherins put rattlesnake venom in you pumpkin juice without you knowing. McGonagall saw him, but couldn't warn you in time." As she spoke, the person came to a stop at the side of my bed opposite Harry and the others.

Wow.

It was that new girl, Samara. The one that _supposed_ to be mute. Pushing her inky black shoulder length hair away from her thin face, she rummaged through the bedside table's drawer.

"Samara's the one whose been doctoring you, Gin," Ron informed me tightly. "Madame Pomfry let her since she's the one who figured you'd been given snake venom." His tone has transformed from tight to downright suspicious.

What's his problem?

As Samara straightened up, I saw the Slytherin House crest on her robes. Ah… that must be the thing that's gone a stuck a pole up my dear brother's arse. A violet clay bottle was grasped tightly in her hand, barely big enough to fit in her palm.

"I want you," she told me, uncapping the bottle, "to drink all of this." She also pulled out a small plant stem from her pocket and ground the dry thing between her thumb and forefinger into the bottle, filling the air with a Christmas type scent. She did the same with another plant looking substance, finally capping the bottle with her thumb and shaking it up.

"What was that stuff, Shoreglade?!" Ron demanded harshly.

"Ron!" That was Hermione. She sounded absolutely appalled. "She saved Ginny's life!"

"She's a Slytherin!" my stupid brother argued, "She can't be trusted. Or did you miss that memo, Hermione?"

Interrupting them both before it got truly ugly, a quiet voice stated plainly, "It was rosemary. And some chamomile."

"Rosemary? Chamomile?" Harry question, subtly trying to position himself between the still fuming Ron and indignant Hermione.

A dry smile answered him. "They're herbs… Not," she added, "a poison. They're properties, outside of the kitchen; include being and oral soother for irritation of the throat and mouth." She continued to shake the bottle vigorously, thump over the top firmly.

While still glaring at Ron, Hermione said, "I don't remember that from Potions class. Or Herbology, for that matter."

"You wouldn't. Using individual 'Muggle' components like herbs to enhance a brew after its completion is almost never taught anymore." Samara handed me the fully, I assume, mixed up concoction after she poured it into a goblet, and helped me sit up. Her hands were a bit chilly, but hey, who am I to complain? As I obeyed, she continued, "Plants are actually really powerful. Muggles use them as well, but magical folk like us can bring out and empower the properties to a greater extent. It's really very useful."

"Wow…" Hermione muttered, "Where did you learn it, then?"

"A book. Want to borrow it?"

My throat was feeling a lot better, and her brew had relieved the pain in my chest. I could breathe!

Guess drinking bloody plants isn't that crazy and bad after all.

"Wicked, Hermione, you've found a soul mate. Bookworms!" I joked. Hey. I thought it was funny. Hermione and Samara both smiled, although Samara's seemed a bit hesitant. Maybe she thought I was saying something strange?

…Nah. She just didn't know that I was always a tad unique.

"See, Ron," Harry said, "Samara was not going to poison Ginny. You git."

That reminded me. "I'd love to know who poisoned me in the first place," I growled, managing to sound menacing in my current bedridden state. That's talent. Or anger. Take your pick.

"Oh, don't worry about him. He'll have to do that enough for all of you." I was startled by how cold and dead her voice had become. Samara the Nurse was completely gone, replaced with Samara the Cold Blooded Assassin. She went on, "After McGonagall and S…Snape finish with him, I'll have a nice little chat with him as well."

Silence followed. I could swear crickets could be heard. But then, of course, my brother had to open his idiot mouth.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a bit bipolar?"

"Ron!" Harry and Hermione both gasped, though Herms sounded much more mortified than Harry did. Harry just sounded surprised that Ron would say such a stupid then. He should be surprised, though. He hangs out with the moron more than I do, and I'm related to him. I learned quickly.

I just hit my brother 'round the head.

"I apologize for my bloody moron of a brother, Samara," I said to the girl, sounding aggrieved and hitting Ron again. "I thank you for saving my life."

She didn't smile, but a kinder look seeped into her eyes. "Its okay, the world's full of idiots. Count yourself lucky, Ginny, he's got his heart in the right place…and he's alive and with you."

There was nothing I could think of to say to that.

And I was saved from having to.

"Sorry," Samara murmured. She seemed to have realized how uncomfortable I'd been. "Well…you'll probably be released tomorrow morning. Feel better, and don't worry about the son of a bitch who poisoned you. I'll take care of it. No one will think of doing something like this after I'm done with the bastard."

And, with that grim statement, she headed for the door, grabbing a black bag off a nearby chair.

Struggling to sit up, I called out, "Wait a minute!" I couldn't just let her leave. She needed friends. I never see her with anyone else. Besides, it always looked like she wanted to talk to people, but then would change her mind. She wasn't getting off this easy. Not with me around!

She stopped and turned her head slightly.

"The first Hogsmeade trip is in two weeks. Why don't you come and hang around with us?"

"I…"

"C'mon!" Harry urged. I think he realized the same thing I had. That, or he just wanted to stay in my good graces. Either way, he was being a smart man. As long as every one agreed with me, things would be peaceful.

Hermione added her own two cents. "We promise not to bore you."

"Alright." Samara's voice held a shadow of reluctance to it, as if she doubted it was a good idea.

Then she was gone, shutting the door gently behind her.

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(A.N.) Like I said before, please review, even if it's to tell me to get my ass in gear and write more interesting chapters. Love! 


	9. Chapter 8: Pacific to Psychosis

Disclaimer: I'm getting really sick of typing that word…

Blood Price

Chapter 8: Pacific to Psychosis

(A.N.) I felt so bad for only posting a really boring chapter that was actually pretty bad, so I typed this up. It's better, or I think it is, at the very least. Enjoy. And thank Serpent of Slytherin for beta'ing by reading her most awesome HP stories.

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Why… the _hell_… did I agree to come?

The two weeks before the Hogsmeade trip had flown by quickly, the days a hustled routine. I had gotten used to the castle of Hogwarts and had spent all my free time seeking out secret passageways, hidden doors, and secluded rooms for me to hide in. By day, I went to class, got bored, and completed assignments mechanically. By night however, I rushed through my homework and then hid myself away in the small havens I'd discovered. It was easier—no, _safer_—to be alone. People tend to ask questions if you pull out a sharp instrument of some sort and make shallow, heavenly cuts across your abdomen.

So why the fuck am I going on the stupid trip?

**You're trying to be normal again, Samara**, said the Voice matter-of-factly, speaking in a smooth and soothing tone. **You _wanted_ to be friends with them.**

Grudgingly, I admitted to myself that the Voice was right. Every night, I saw the Red Room in my dreams. And each time, I was closer and closer to the bodies on the floor, and their eyes seemed to scream my guilt back at me. After each dream, my pain, my grief, my…_loneliness_ increased tenfold.

**Samara, you don't need to be lonely. I'm always here, always here to bring you back from that wicked place**, the Voice whispered, and then, with a slight edge, added, **Aren't I?**

Yes, yes you are.

I was starting to have longer and longer conversations with the Gray Voice. It didn't just come to rescue me from the Room anymore. Now, it was like a confidant or a counselor right inside my head. I had come to trust it, even rely on its advice sometimes. Crazy as it sounds, it was the honest truth.

Of course, I was far from being sane and stable, wasn't I?

Pulling on my black student's cloak, I made my way to the Great Hall where the students going to Hogsmeade were gathering en masse, debating with myself the entire way. Snape, the bloody bastard, and McGonagall, my…ah…detention-sitter, if you will, were standing at the head of the chattering throng.

I actually kind of liked McGonagall, despite the fact that I had detention with her for about another month for sending the Weasley girl's would-be killer to the Hospital Wing. I like the fact that her lips had twitched in slight amusement as she informed me at my first session that I had broken twelve of his bones (not including fingers, which I also shattered) and that forcing him to ingest bubotuber pus was "wholly unacceptable". Plus, she was a competent teacher, not like that quack Trelawney.

As I navigated through the crowd, I kept an eye out for Ginny's unmistakable red hair. Quickly spotting her, I managed to reach her and her friends without having to blow anyone out of my bloody path with my wand.

The same people from the infirmary were with her, plus two extras. Her brother, Ron, stood between her and Harry Potter. No one in Slytherin, apparently, liked Harry Potter, being the "Boy Who Lived" and all. Frankly, I could care less if he was Bozo the Bloody Fucking Clown, I would either like him or hate him depending on his personality. They hated Ron on principle for being Potter's friend. The other familiar face was Hermione Granger, whiz-girl and A+ student extraordinaire. No body in Slytherin was overly fond of her either, mostly because she was, like Ron, Potter's friend, and she got better grades than them, and…well…

Because Malfoy, apparently leader of _all _Slytherin House, hated all of the "Golden Trio".

Another boy, a sixth year I assumed, stood with them. I sort of knew him from Herbology class. Name of…Norman?

….No….um…Neville? Yeah, Neville…Neville Longbottom, I believe.

And next to him, speaking peacefully with Ginny was Luna. The only reason I knew Luna Lovegood is that, well…it was complicated.

Spotting me, Ginny reached out and snagged my arm, pulling me into the direct middle of their group. She smiled enthusiastically, saying, "Hey! For a second, I thought you were going to bail on us."

I just smiled slightly, tactfully deciding not to tell her that the thought had crossed my mind more than once. A _lot_ more than once.

"Now, I know you know my brother, Harry, and 'Mione, but I want to introduce you to N—."

"Neville Longbottom," I finished for her, "We have Herbology together." Turning to Luna, I continued, "And I already know Luna, as well."

Everyone but Luna gaped. I guess they had a good reason. When would I have met her? It's not like I make a habit of conversation or anything.

Sighing, I looked at the younger girl. I guess I was going to have to explain. "I babysat Luna during the summers before she came to Hogwarts. Her father is my third cousin by marriage through my adoptive mother's step-father's side." Blank looks. "It was a small town."

"So…" Ron said, after a minute of relative silence within our group, "You're not actually related?"

Luna smiled that dreamy smile of hers. "No, we are."

"But…but how?" Neville asked. Poor boy, he looked so confused.

"Ask the Karnaka Kippel," Luna answered mildly, still smiling.

Ron and Harry opened their mouths.

"Don't," I commanded tiredly, "You wouldn't get it, and if you did… Well… Let's leave it at that you don't want to know."

"That's right, Sammy," Luna remarked, silvery eyes shining. I winced at her nick-name for me. "That one is our secret."

Yeah, because _I_ had made the story up to comfort her after her mom's death. The girl had a terrific imagination, so I had tried to entertain her, little ghost she'd been, and is. It wasn't until later that I realized that she had slipped a bit farther from the reality the rest of us were experiencing into a world of her own design. Her father hadn't been much help either. The man was loonier than she was.

"Did Loopy Luna Lovegood just call you 'Sammy'?" someone drawled from behind me. That someone had a sickeningly familiar voice. Please, don't be…

I turned around.

…Malfoy.

God, just what I needed. The guy just wasn't content with the tolerance I afforded him. It wasn't just that he was a jerk, a playboy, and a Death Eater's son. He was also…charming with me. Ever since the scene in Potions two weeks ago and the following events in the infirmary, he'd been going out of his way to be nice to me. It was annoying as hell. He still followed me around like a lost dog and watched me closely as per his orders, but he didn't intrude all that often anymore. It made him a bit likable, if not more than a bit stalker-like.

Well, that and the fact that he was still drop dead sexy, but that had nothing to do with anything.

Oh, who am I kidding?!

**You're certainly not fooling me**, the Voice interjected.

I do _not_ need your help when my _problem_ is that my _hormones_ are raging and making me _horny_!

The Voice chuckled, and then faded away.

It did that a lot.

"Malfoy," I addressed my stalker, "know now that Luna is the _only_ person living who can get away with calling me 'Sammy'. Anyone else will experience pain beyond their wildest nightmare."

He smirked. It was a really nice smirk… Gah! Dammit!

"Is that so?" he mused out loud.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry growled from Ginny's side, "No one invited you."

"Ah, but you did, Potter," Malfoy replied maliciously. "When you invited Samara, you invited me."

That, that arrogant _prick_! "I do _not_ need a babysitter, Malfoy."

He gave me a look that clearly disagreed. Aloud, he told me, "Maybe, maybe not, but if I let you out of my sight, Snape will have my head. Literally."

Well, fuck… He was right.

Sighing, I glanced at Ginny. "I loathe my life."

She patted my back sympathetically. "I feel your pain."

Actually, she didn't, and I hoped she never would.

"Aw, come on, Shoreglade," Malfoy said, sauntering up and draping a casual arm around my shoulders. "I'm not _that_ bad."

"No," Ron agreed, "you're worse."

"And yet, Weaselbee, no one seemed to ask you," was Malfoy's chilly and mocking reply.

"Why you—!" the red head growled, taking a step forward.

There was way too much testosterone in the air. I swear, men need to think with something other than their hormones.

Malfoy started playing idly with a strand of my hair near my neck. My body shivered and I blushed profusely.

Okay, so maybe I can't talk about being ruled by hormones.

"Ron, be reasonable," pleaded Hermione, "Remember what happened the last time."

"Yes, Weasley, remember what happened the last time," Malfoy mimicked, still running a nonchalant hand through my hair.

Damn. Being petted isn't so bad.

**Are you a dog then?** asked the Voice curiously, with a distinct edge to it.

Well, no, but that doesn't alter the fact that it feels good.

**I thought you hated the boy.**

I don't _hate_ him! I just don't _like_ him! Wait, why am I defending myself? I don't need to justify myself to _you_.

**Don't you?**

Choosing to ignore the demanding Voice, I turned my attention back to the outside world. Harry had put a restraining hand on Ron's arm, while Hermione and Ginny tried to sooth him verbally.

It wasn't working.

"I don't want to calm down! Just let me go and I'll turn the evil son of a bitch into a _dead_ one! A dead, twisted corpse! It wouldn't take that long! Let me at him!"

The words triggered something in the back of my mind, something dark and terrifying that I knew I didn't want to see.

The world got very narrow and surreal.

"Ron—," Ginny tried, sounding far away.

"No! I am going to hex him into a bloody, sodding oblivion!"

Oblivion… A bloody oblivion?

Cold, gone, red, black.

**You know what to do, girl.**

_Drip, drip, drip…_ Crimson droplets hit a floor no one else could see.

**Do it.**

A little body, so tiny and frail, in a bloody sundress.

**Do it, Samara!**

No knife. I have no knife.

**DO IT!**

"Samara! Can you hear me? SAMARA!"

Like waking suddenly from a trance, I jerked back into reality. I looked up at Ginny, Luna, and Malfoy. I could distantly make out Ron, Harry, and Neville in the background.

Up? But Ginny and Luna were both shorter than me…

"Can you stand, Samara?" Malfoy inquired, voice in my ear, "I would like my shoulder back."

What?

I realized that I was sprawled on the floor, leaning against Malfoy with my head on his shoulder. Luna and Ginny each hand one of my hands clasped between theirs, crouched next to me.

"I can stand," I mumbled. Jesus, this is embarrassing. I knew I shouldn't have come!

Ginny and Luna yanked me to my feet.

"That, Weaselbee," Malfoy drawled, standing and brushing off his trousers, "is why I'm coming."

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by McGonagall's powerful, commanding voice.

"Let's go! Stay together and do _not_ run!"

We all ran. Even me, though I didn't know why.

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(A.N.) Hope you liked it. Please be cool and review.


	10. Chapter 9: Puzzles and Phases

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Blood Price

Chapter 9: Puzzles and Phases

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The trip down to Hogsmeade was, for the most part, peaceful and uneventful. Samara seemed to have recovered from her brief fainting episode and was back to her normal quiet, dark self. It'd scared me half to death when she'd collapsed with a look of sheer terror frozen on her features. That alone was curious, but the look on _Malfoy's_ face was even more intriguing. For a brief moment he'd looked… Well, he'd looked _afraid_ for her. Concerned.

I have a feeling that Malfoy isn't the complete sadistic prat that Harry, Ron, and I think he is. Even if he does call me a mudblood.

Funny thing was though: Samara didn't seem to like him all that much, at least outwardly. It made me feel a little pity for Malfoy, but only a little. After that scene in Potions two weeks ago, it was hard to pity him overmuch when it came to Samara. It was ironic, too. She seemed to be someone he cared about, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

Once in the bustling town of Hogsmeade, we decided to split up. Pulling me aside, Samara asked me to help her ditch Malfoy and to show her the way to the local bookshop, The Ink Quill.

With a little help from the others, we managed to do it, losing Malfoy in the confusion at Honeydukes.

We walked in silence down the busy street, and I took the chance to study my companion. She didn't appear mad, at least until you took a good, long look at her eyes. A quick glance would reveal nothing more than a pair of jade colored orbs, but longer inspection would show a deep well of pain and…emptiness. That was enough to lead to insanity, when God seems to have abandoned you.

"Why did you transfer to Hogwarts?" I asked, breaking the companionable silence. She was such a mystery, a shadowy spot that no one could see through. I don't like mysteries. I like _solving_ mysteries, though.

She was quiet for a moment, then, "Dumbledore came, and I had nowhere else to go. End of story." Her voice wasn't ice, or fire, but instead was such a neutral tone that clearly said she didn't want to talk about it.

Like that would stop me. I have an insatiable curiosity.

"What about your family?" I persisted. Patience is a virtue.

Now came the ice. She gave me a chilly stare, and I swear that it penetrated me to my very soul. "That's none of your business, Hermione."

"What if I want it to be? What if I want to be your friend?" I shot back, annoyed and taken aback at the same time.

A humorless smile. "Trust me. That will only get you hurt. Just like everyone else."

Stepping in front of her, I barred her path and put a hand on her arm. "I think I can handle it."

I could. I had been at the Ministry last year, during the siege, and down through the trapdoor for the Philosopher's Stone with Harry and Ron in our first year. I had seen evil. Whatever plagued Samara was surely not as bad as all that.

"Really?" she mused dryly. With a jerky shrug, she continued, "Well, if you want to know so terribly… My family was killed by Death Eaters."

Oh. "I'm so sor—."

She cut off my condolences. "Hush. You wanted know, then you will know everything. I found them when I came home from school using a Portkey. They were supposed to pick me up at the train station, but they couldn't because my little sister was sick. Do you want to know _how_ they died? I'm sure you do. After all, you seem so curious about it all." A biting edge to her voice practically slapped me in the face.

Oh dear… I didn't want to know this…

"They were lying on the floor of the living room. When I first walked in, I couldn't figure out why the walls were red. Everything was spattered and stained with blood; the carpet was soaked with it. I saw my sister first. My _seven year old _sister had been eviscerated; her intestines were hanging out and coiled on the floor. My mother's bones had all been crushed and broken. Some of them had pierced through her skin and were sticking out at all angles."

Oh Merlin. I think I'm going to be sick.

"My father's head had been blown apart. Ever seen human brains splattered everywhere, Hermione? Can you _handle_ that? Are you and your curiosity _satisfied _now?"

"Samara… I don't know what to say. I'm just… I'm so sorry. I didn't know," I murmured, gently guiding her to a bench. She was shaking so violently that I wasn't all that sure if she could stay standing.

For the next twenty minutes, I coached the girl back into calmness. And until the clocks all told two o'clock, we hid among The Ink Quill's bookshelves. I bought a history book, and Samara got herself a guide to rare herbs and plants. She hadn't said another word to me since… Yeah.

As we headed back the way we had come, purchases in hand, we (unfortunately…) came across Ron, Harry, and Malfoy.

None of them looked all that happy.

Ron pulled out his wand.

"Oh, for the love of…" I grumbled under my breath, drawing my own wand out of my bag. Honestly, that boy can't _not_ get himself into trouble.

"Oh fuck," Samara groaned at the same time.

Glancing over at her, I saw that she didn't have her wand in her hands, but she was setting down her bag and pushing back her sleeves. I had a brief moment to notice the silver scars on her arms before she said, "You take Ron, Hermione. I'll take the other idiot."

Something tells me she's referring to Malfoy.

She grabbed her fellow Slytherin by the back of his robes and introduced him to the dirt. Hard. I fairly winced as she sat on his back and, in a bored tone, began to lecture him on how to "play nice".

Harry and Ron looked stunned. I just giggled as I walked over to them. When I got close enough, I cuffed Ron on the side of his head. Glaring at him as if he was a misbehaved puppy, I admonished, "Bad."

"He started it!" both Malfoy and Ron blurted out in defense.

"And I just don't seem to care," Samara remarked nonchalantly, pushing Malfoy back against the ground.

Smiling, I added, "Because we are finishing it."

Samara looked up at me, seeming amused. Maybe I had intruded on her privacy, but it seems that it had _forced_ her to feel a bit better. Some secrets are just too horrible to bear alone. And even so, I know that she hadn't told me everything, but, I think, she would eventually. For the time being, I'd keep what she'd told me in confidence.

"Let me up, Shoreglade!" Malfoy growled, pushing himself and Samara, consequently, slightly from the ground.

Samara paused to think a while. "Hm… No." She straddled his back and stepped on one of his hands. Malfoy yelped, hit the dirt, and then went back to growling at her.

When Ron and Harry laughed at him, I whacked Ron again and was about to get Harry, but a smaller hand than mine grabbed him by the ear.

"Hey, Ginny!" I chirped happily. She would do the honor for me.

Eventually, we headed back to the castle with the rest of the students. The guys had stopped sniping at each other in favor of nursing their various bruises in a discreet and manly manner. Samara, Ginny, Luna, and I, however, walked in blissful and comfortable silence, highly satisfied with the end result of the trip. Or at least, I was satisfied.

After we had said good-bye to all the non-Gryffindors, the boys and I headed back to the Common Room. We were not a millimeter in through the Fat Lady's portrait, and they were back to their grumbling again. "Whose side are you on, anyway?" Harry growled accusingly, rubbing his sore ear.

Ginny and I exchanged the "Look". The one that simply translated, with the right eye roll, to "Men" in exactly that tone of voice.

"_Our_ side," Ginny told them, indicating to herself and I.

Nose scrunched up in annoyance, Ron asked, "And what side is that again?"

"The female one, Ron. Don't be dense," I stated, walking away towards my dormitory with Ginny following behind. "A girl would have recognized the situation, unlike you two buffoons, and would have behaved."

Shouts of indignation echoed after us as Ginny and I ascended the stair of the tower.

"So," Ginny whispered as soon as we were out of ear shot, "how'd it go?"

"Let's just say it wasn't a total waste of time."

"Phase one complete, then?"

Grinning, I replied, "Roger that."

"Then on to phase two."

"What's stage two, out of curiosity?"

"I'll let you know once I've thought of it."

So, I left Ginny planning at her dormitory door. We would succeed with Samara yet.

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(A.N.) Thanks the the...two...of you that reviewed. --' I appreciate that you took the time to let me know what you thought about the chapters. Another set of thanks to everyone who's been reading. Love love. Now. REVIEW this chapter. I happen to like it when peope review. Thanks!


	11. Chapter 10: Palisades and Precipices

Disclaimer: Was anyone else left feeling incomplete by the epilogue of HP7?

Blood Price

Chapter 10: Palisades and Precipices

(A.N.) I'm sooooooo sorry that I've neglected this story. Honestly, I sort of forgot about it. --' Whoops. Then DH reminded me that I had a HP story floating about. Speaking of which... As said in my disclaimer, I felt rather let down by the epilogue of book 7. Was it just me? Let me know your thoughts! But anyways, I'm out of a beta now, so please ignore mistakes when you find them. (I still reccomend Serpent of Slytherin's stories, by the way) Please enjoy the chapter!

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I do not want to bloody be here.

Snape had sent me a note demanding my presence, along with a lovely threat of dismemberment if I failed to come. Being fond of my limbs where they were, that being attached, I came, and I just don't want to be here. Whiny? Probably. With good reason? Oh, yes.

I was sick of spying on Samara for the bastard. Frankly, I'd rather do something else besides _watch_ her but, alas, she has been completely unaffected by my attempts to… Well, I'll say one thing for her. She has more willpower than most females who'd crossed my path. Not to mention that the problem of seducing her has become rather complicated. Since Snape was her father and his same sadistic self, it makes reporting to him just a tad awkward. And by a tad, I mean a whole fucking lot.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, acknowledging my presence without looking up from a steaming cauldron, "take a seat. Now."

I sat. My God, this man has me whipped. If I didn't care about my grades and, much more so, my physical wellbeing… But I do. Damn it.

My mental tirade was interrupted by the Potions Master.

"You report, Mr. Malfoy?"

I sighed. "Not much change since my last report, sir." I hate calling him "sir". "She still has frequent nightmares and fainting spells. Still quiet. Although, she has been a bit more social lately, spending a lot of time with Mudblood Granger and that freak, Loony Lovegood. And with the Weasley girl, too." Ever since the first Hogsmeade trip, Samara was usually in the company of at least one of those girls, if not all. I knew for a fact that they were usually study sessions in the library, but it was the most time Samara has spent with anyone willingly since coming here. She was usually dispensing help with homework and, just recently, other had begun to show up for help. Mostly younger students, and from all the different Houses. I told Snape about Samara's tutoring in a little detail as possible. Slimy git.

Snape was silent for a while, and then he nodded to himself. "You may go, Mr. Malfoy. And also, if you receive any communication from your family, I wish to know immediately. Am I understood?" He fixed a creepy, empty stare on me.

Why would he want to know? And why would he bring it up now? Surely he didn't know…

I was going to tell him that it was none of his bloody business, but I wanted to keep my tongue, thanks. So, instead, I replied, "Yes, sir." This being said, I turned and headed for the door. Sweet, glorious escape was within my grasp!

As my hand brushed the door handle, Snape called from behind me, "And Mr. Malfoy? If you so much as touch my daughter in your normal intent, you will be very sorry indeed."

I imagined Samara in my mind's eye and knew that, somehow, it would be worth enduring more of Snape's big nosed and oily attentions if I could wrangle the tiniest display of warmth from her.

Exiting the dungeons, I made my way to the library. Not only was Samara in all likelihood there, I also had an essay for McGonagall due in a couple of days as well. A one and a half foot long essay, at that. Plus some work for Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Some weird woman, Nymphadora Tonks, was teaching this year. I have a feeling she's not a real teacher. I mean, really, her hair is the color of pink bubblegum for Merlin's sake! Though, I have to admit, she must be brave (or possibly extremely daft) to take the cursed teaching position.

The library, when I got there, was surprisingly full. A large group of students sat the long tables, quills working furiously. They looked to be in their third or fourth year. I could recognize some faces from my House, and I also noted robes from the other three Houses as well.

A cluster of even younger students, definitely first years, were gathered around a large round table. Apparently teaching the munchkins wand movements for casting the Levitation Charm, Samara circled the table patiently.

Madame Pince, the librarian, eyed them from her desk, looking as if she was debating between being amused and being disapproving.

Samara reached one tiny boy and took his hand, guiding his movements firmly.

Quietly, I stood half hidden behind the bookcases and watched. After all, watching Samara was my newfound hobby, something I'd become rather accustomed to. As much as I've complained about my assignment, I don't mind it all that much.

She moved swiftly between tables, checking over work and answering questions. It was the most I'd ever heard her say to another living being at any one time. Every once in a while, she pushed a strand of ebon hair absently from her eyes. I was such an innocent gesture but, to me, it was just a little bit seductive.

I found almost everything about Samara seductive.

I've been attracted to girls before, but never like this. Never has my attraction gone this deep or gotten this complicated.

There are times when I would find myself entranced by her. Like she was the very embodiment of some spell, or part Veela. Bust she was neither (to my limited knowledge) and, frankly, no one seemed all that bewitched with her.

No one but me anyways.

Eventually, I approached her, my trademark smirk already stretching my lips. When I was close enough for her to hear me, I cleared my throated to get her attention. Apparently startled, she turned quickly. As her eyes found me, however, she gave me a hard, hostile look and turned away without a word.

Wow. Talk about the cold shoulder.

I'd thought I was making progress, too, damn it.

After I stood around idly for about ten minutes, she finally whirled around to face me gain. "What is it, Malfoy?" she demanded, sounding annoyed.

I smiled lazily just to infuriate her. "Just watching the show. And, I must say, I like what I see. I like it very much."

Samara blushed vividly while I made a show of looking her up and down. Snape's warning be damned. I love it when she blushes.

"You," she hissed, "are the most arrogant, insufferable prick on this planet." She had moved closer to me so that her words couldn't be heard by the other students. When I breathed in, I could smell the faintest hint of jasmine in her hair.

I kept smiling. "You know you love me," I teased, inhaling deeply. Wonderful.

She probably would've hit me if not for the tiny hand that tugged at her sleeve out of nowhere. We both looked down to find a Hufflepuff first year girl holding a book larger than she was. I swear, the little buggers get smaller every year.

"Samara, I don't understand this," the bird-child chirped timidly. She had opened up the book (quite the feat as the volume had to outweigh her by about a few kilos…) and was now pointing to a section of text in the smallest font possible. It had to be for History of Magic. There were no pictures.

With another glare for me, Samara led the girl to one of the emptier tables and began talking quietly. Her expression had softened for the kid. She handled all the midgets the same way: soft voice, slight smile, and easy manner. She could have been a big sister to any one of them.

It got me thinking about things she has said in the Infirmary all those weeks ago and of the things she muttered in her sleep that the girls in her dormitory relayed to me.

"_You killed them!"_

"_Helen…"_

I'm beginning to understand her. A cold exterior, but a soft spot for younger kids. Volunteering time in the Hospital Wing and in the library. A definite hate for Death Eaters.

It seemed so clear now, so obvious.

Sympathy and pity welled up, startling me. I'll admit it. I'm a selfish bastard and it's always worked for me, to tell the truth. I don't usually give a bloody fuck about anyone else unless I need something from them. But I just felt bad for Samara because she deserved a bit of sympathy.

She stayed another hour at the library and, when she left, I fell in step beside her. It earned me nothing less than an exasperated glance. For a while, we walked in a somewhat tense silence. Not that I minded, but Samara clearly did. With each step, her left eye began to twitch faster and faster. This was a sign, I'd discovered the hard way, that she was coming very close to hitting me. Hard. Or yelling at me. Loudly.

"Malfoy," she growled out from between clenched teeth.

"Yes, love?" I answered sweetly.

Her eye twitched more violently. It was brilliant.

"Go die."

"If that's all you have to say, I would like to point out that I'm not suicidal, love."

"Then why are you still here?"

Good comeback.

"To enjoy your wonderful company," I replied dryly. Merlin's balls, it was like encountering a brick wall.

We reached the entrance to the Common Room and Samara barked, rather forcefully I might add, at the trick wall "Black Mamba" and marched through the revealed doorway. Ignoring me completely, she went straight down the stairs to her dorm.

Sighing gustily, I caught Pansy's eye and nodded after Samara. Looking irritated, Pansy followed my charge. Pansy and some others were my eyes and ears when Samara went somewhere I couldn't.

That taken care of, I settled myself gracefully into one of the black, high-backed chairs near the fireplace. Goyle, Crabbe, Zambini, and others soon joined me, my own little court. Drinks were passed around and enjoyed to the fullest.

Zambini, a few stolen butterbeers and shots of firewhiskey later, remarked slyly, "New girl playing hard to get?"

I smirked, naturally, and replied, "A little."

"You gonna give up, Draco?" Goyle wondered, swaying drunkenly in his chair. Despite their considerable size, he and Crabbe were terrible lightweights. Crabbe was already passed out on the floor, the git.

"Hardly," I answered, keeping a disgusted grimace from my face as Crabbe snored wetly. "You know I enjoy a challenge."

After that, I skillfully steered the conversation elsewhere. Eventually, everyone staggered unsteadily down the steps for bed, where they would sleep soundly due to borderline alcohol poisoning. Except me, of course. Though I have more sense than to drink myself silly, I have a strong tolerance for liqueur anyway. I'm rarely smashed. Though there was that one time last winter…

Ah, happy memories. Too bad the hangover was a bitch.

I was the only person left in the Common Room by eleven o'clock, waiting. I'd been told in a letter this morning that I'd be receiving a letter around eleven thirty and that I'd better be awake to get it.

Beginning to doze off, I thought at first that I was imagining the pounding footsteps echoing in the silence. But when a wraith-thin figure dress in black darted into the room, I knew I'd heard right. Black hair and pale skin left a fleeting impression that was instantly recognizable.

Samara.

She scrambled at desks, finger searching violently. I stood up cautiously and began to approach her slowly. She grabbed a black tinted vase filled with lilies…

And shattered it by hurling it at the stone floor. She ran her hands through the resulting shards and I saw crimson lines open up along her skin.

Shit.

I ran over and grabbed her around the waist, yanking her away from the sharp glass fragments.

"Let me go!"

"Samara!? Samara, it's me! It's Draco!" She elbowed me in the shoulder. "Ow! Bloody fuck!"

"I have to make it go away! Let go!"

Bullocks.

I grabbed a flailing wrist and spun her around, trapping her front against me. "Samara, it isn't real! It's just a nightmare! Whatever you're seeing isn't real!"

"Make it go away!" she screeched in my face, eyes wild.

Distraction, distraction, distraction… Think of something to distract her!

So, I did the only think I could think of on such short notice.

I kissed her. Thoroughly. She froze under my lips, mouth parting in surprise. I took full advantage, of course, and slipped my tongue between her teeth. Exploring her mouth slowly, I relaxed my grip on her and encircled her anorexic waist with both my hands. It wasn't as if she was struggling anymore.

She pulled back first, but not all that quickly. I noticed the last with contented satisfaction. Her eyes were wide, but not with panic. Astonishment seemed more like it.

"How dare… I…" She couldn't seem to find what she wanted to say.

It was amusing as hell.

"I'm going to bed!" she finally announced, scowling at me and stepping away defiantly.

"Sweet dreams," I wished her, a wicked smile playing across my lips.

She practically ran back to her dormitory.

Rather pleased with myself, I sank back into my vacated chair and stared into the dancing flame in the fireplace. I didn't even notice when the clock hands showed half past eleven.

_Tap, tap._

"Hm?" I turned to find a crow, or perhaps it was a raven, perched on a bust of Salazar Slytherin and shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

How did that bird get in here?

Attached to its leg was a small roll of parchment, which I took, deftly avoiding the creature's sharp beak. The black bird flew up towards the ceiling as soon as I relieved it of its burden, dissipating into the shadows above me.

…That's something you don't see every day.

Unrolling the message, I read:

"_There is a new student at your school named Samara Shoreglade. Seek her out and help deliver her to the Dark Lord, for He has an interest in her. Send your reply as soon as the girl is in your possession. Do NOT fail._

_Aunt Bellatrix"_

Oh, fuck.

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(A.N.) Next up: Samara's POV and arguements with the Voice. What fun. PLEASE REVIEW!


	12. Chapter 11: Pellmell Panic

Disclaimer: Now that the series is over, all I have to live for is Breaking Dawn, the Twilight movie, and Harry Potter fanfiction. Is that weird?

Blood Price

Chapter 11: Pell-mell Panic

(A.N.) Okay. Here's the deal: I'm seriously thinking about permanantly discontinuing this fic. It seems sort of pointless now that the series is over. However, if someone out there strongly objects, then I'll keep posting. I would also like to take the time to thank everyone who review the last chapter (you all are amazing!) and to mention that there has been beta'ing on this chapter. Thanks, and enjoy.

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I-I can't _believe_ that bastard! How _dare_ he? That stupid, brainless, sexy git! I'll—

…Wait a minute. Did I just think the word "sexy" as part of this tirade?

**Yes. Yes, you did,** the Voice told me, sounding rather miffed.

Shut up! This is so _your_ fault!

Angry, the Voice answered scathingly, **How do you figure that, girl?**

It… It just is!

Okay. Not my greatest comeback. Though the Voice didn't dwell too much on how pathetic my response was.

**Ungrateful brat! After all I've—**

This was getting tiresome. And old. I just wanted the stupid voice to shut up and leave me alone. I wanted my thoughts to be own again. So, I imagined slamming a door shut with all my mental and physical might, and then chaining it shut.

Blesses silence. Thank you, Merlin. Now I can think in peace.

Putting the fact that I was enraged with Malfoy aside, I examined the first of two conundrums. One: he had made that horrid, blood soaked room disappear from my vision. How, or why, I don't know, but he did. One second I was close to drowning that bloody nightmare and then, suddenly, I found myself smack dab in the middle of reality with Malfoy kissing me. Which reminds me… He does it very well…

I groaned in annoyance and disgust with my self. Can't I control myself at all? Even a little? "Never mind…" I muttered aloud. My lack of self-control was hardly my most pressing worry at the moment.

On to more important issues. Second question: What is _wrong_ with me? Mentally, that is. I mean, this is getting out of hand. I have sleepwalked in my life, but tonight I somehow did so, ending up in the Common Room with… Well, with Malfoy.

I guess it wasn't a bad way to wake up, considering the painful alternatives. But I just can't help feeling that he took advantage of me. I hate being used or thought of as an easy lay. Always have. The last guy who had implied otherwise had met with a series of _accidents_.

The worst part though, the true reason I was so angry, was that I'd found my body starting to respond, despite my thoughts to the contrary. Traitor.

I mulled over this things until the sun rose hours later. I didn't even try to go back to sleep, didn't want to. Still, I was reluctant to crawl out of the refuge of my four poster bed. I was grumbling under my breath as I dressed hastily. I hate mornings.

Now, let's see… Blouse on right, buttons all done up?

Check.

Itchy skirt?

Check.

Tie?

Check.

Ugly sweater vest?

Check.

Preppy socks and shoes?

Check, check.

Robes?

Check.

Good. I have my entire uniform. A few days ago, I'd forgotten my stupid fucking sweater vest and one of my socks had been inside out. Trelawney had a fit. Something about the apocalypse.

Professor Tonks had thought it was funny. So funny that she'd giggled all through the day's lesson. In fact, she laughed so hard, her hair had turned bright canary yellow.

Oh, well. I guess it's just better for everyone involved if all garments are present and on me the right way.

I loaded my bag with what books and other shit I'd need for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and then I breezed through the practically empty Common Room.

I suppose Malfoy went to bed…

Why do I care?

…No comment.

The Great Hall was virtually bare of occupants, as well. Only a handful of students and some ghosts were hanging around. As I headed for the Slytherin table, however, I almost choked. _He_ was sitting there already, looking off into empty air.

That's unusual. Where's his posse? Maybe I should find out what's wrong…

Ack. No! I refuse to feel concern for that arrogant son of a bitch.

He rubbed a pale, elegant hand over his eyes, looking tired and as if he had a massive migraine. Maybe…

No. No, I feel nothing. Nothing!

I sat down across from him. It was the most convenient seat available. I swear.

Malfoy didn't look up or acknowledge me in any other way. Not even a bloody "good morning". Instead, he groaned with a voice laden with the desire to sleep, murmuring to himself quietly, almost silently.

It was actually kind of cute. Like a little kid… or even a ted—

I am not going to finish that thought.

Finally, I found myself giving in. Okay. So I wasn't the cold-hearted bitch I wish I was. "Are you alright?" I asked, peering at his pale countenance critically.

No answer.

"Malfoy?"

"Do I _look_ alright?" he demanded wearily.

"Well, no, actually."

He glared at me with bleary and bloodshot eyes. "Thank you for clarifying that for me. Your power of observation is simply astounding," he muttered sarcastically. Grimacing, he started to massage his temples, clearly attempting to dispel the ache in his head.

I sighed heavily and began to dig through my giant bag. Did he always have to be such an ass? Probably. As I rummaged through the bag's contents, I commanded, "Pour yourself a mug of water and heat it so it boils."

"Why?"

"I didn't ask for a debate, Malfoy!" I rebuked, throwing him a glower of my own.

"Fine."

I finally found the one of many packets I kept with me, the one I'd been looking for. Small, curly shavings of bark that gave off and earthy smell were revealed as I opened the cloth pouch. Looking up, I found Malfoy prodding absently with his wand at a small flame on the gold plate in front of him while a mug levitated unsteadily over the flames. His eyes were slightly glazed over.

Carefully, I climbed over the table, pulling my bag along with me and avoiding the silverware and plate along the way, and plopped down beside him, magicking the cup down before it could collapse out of the air. The water inside the mug wasn't boiling like I wanted it to be, so I tapped it with my wand and snapped a useful charm that brought the water to an instant boil. Very handy. Then, using a napkin as a make-shift strainer, I steeped the bark in the hot water to make tea. I let it sit for a couple minutes to make sure that the concoction was strong. Once that was done, I handed him the mug and ordered him to drink it.

Malfoy eyed it for a second, glanced at me, and then drank a mouthful.

Instantly, he grimaced, though he did swallow the tea. "What the fuck did I just drink?" He had a bit more color in his skin already and the glazed look had left his eyes, which were staring down at the liquid in question with obvious distain.

"Willow bark tea," I informed him, beginning to pack my bag so that everything was back in its place. "Good for headaches, fever, and slight fatigue. It's bitter, so you'd better down it in as few gulps as humanly possible."

"Thanks for the warning," he grumbled, gray eyes narrowing.

I smiled as sweetly as I could. "Your welcome."

Malfoy looked down at the cup again, hesitating. He took another gulp of the tea, wincing at the horrible taste, and kept drinking until the cup was empty. "That stuff is bloody awful," he told me, practically flinging the cup away from him.

"But you feel better," I reminded him. I was feeling a little smug. So sue me.

He scowled. "I suppose."

His attitude was reminiscent of a nine-year-old I'd once taken care of, but I decided that bringing it up was more trouble than it was worth. It was too early for a squabble. Instead, I glanced about the Hall, watching as students filtered slowly into the enormous room. The enchanted ceiling was cloudy. I guess it's going to rain soon.

Suddenly, Malfoy asked slyly, "Sleep well last night?"

One…two…three…don't hex him…four…maybe just a small spell…five…or a slap…six…seven…or a punch…

Counting to ten has never worked for me.

Malfoy, now appearing to feel much improved, smiled. "Your eye is twitching again, love."

I replied with something that no teacher or mother would ever condone.

"Language, Samara, language," he admonished, wagging a finger at me. "Besides, that is physically impossible." A wink accompanied the last statement.

"That's what you think," I shot back. This is why I shouldn't have helped him. Damn my bleeding heart!

**You don't say**, the Voice whispered sullenly.

Did I ask you?

**No. But you did happen to think it quite loudly. You are a very annoying child.**

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I was answered by nothing but silence. Again.

Great. The voice in my head seems to be its own sentient being. Just fucking bloody great. I must have done something particularly awful in a past life to earn all this bad luck. It really is the only explanation for all the terrible shit that happens to me. I think the only person who could possibly have more bad luck than me is Potter.

With renewed determination, I ignored Malfoy, successfully this time, while I ate my breakfast. Well, if you can call picking at scrambled eggs eating. I really didn't have much of an appetite. Fancy that.

Eventually, the Hall was packed wall to wall with students eating, chattering, and doing last minute homework. When I was tired of all the meaningless and trivial drivel, I left my seat at the Slytherin table and got the hell out of the Hall, leaving Malfoy surrounded by his little gang.

Not that I cared, but I'm pretty sure he watched me leave.

Since there was still almost an hour before classes began, the corridors were quiet and empty as I walked to my first class of the day, which was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Our lessons these days mainly focused on creatures and, of course, spells used to incapacitate, harm, capture, and otherwise affect those creatures. At this point in the year, we were studying Levifolds, Dementors, and the Patronus Charm. Not that anyone could actually cast the charm yet, though. Well, except for Hermione and Potter. But I suppose that they would have to be the exceptions, now wouldn't they?

Speaking of Levifolds… I wanted one. They strangle and eat people and are virtually undetectable. What better pet is there, really?

**My, aren't we feeling murderous today. That Weasley boy was right, girl, you are losing your mind. Quite thoroughly, I might add.**

Do you have to sound so happy about it?

**I speak only the truth.**

Oh, shut the hell up. I don't really care what you believe is true, bitch. You're only something my imagination made up, anyway.

**You make it sound as if you are making me up, Samara. Or that I am some extension of your self. That would be a mistake to assume, you silly little girl.**

I snorted. "Oh, really? So you think you're real?" The words accidentally slipped from my mouth, full of disbelieving scorn. The day just kept getting better. Not only did I have a voice in my head, the Voice was delusional. Is that a bad sign? Probably.

Pain stabbed the insides of my skull as the Voice replied. **Continue to brush me off, girl, and you will not like what happens. Then again, even if you didn't, you still would not like the outcome, I think. Either way, you lose, dear Samara. And that is, of course, the point.**

If you're real, then who are you?

Might as well indulge my crazy hallucination. I was already bonkers. There really wasn't that much more to loose.

Instead of answering me, the Voice cackled, her high pitched and deranged giggles fading slowly and dramatically from my thoughts. Very contrived, in my opinion. However, it left me filled with trepidation. I couldn't shake the idea that the Voice was a real person from my mind. Suppose it was true. That would mean that someone was deliberately trying to destroy my sanity. And they were succeeding beautifully.

Not good.

Panic hit me full force. There was someone _in my head_! Definitely time to seek outside help. Going insane is one thing. Having someone lounging about your thoughts was another.

I began running—no, sprinting—to Tonks' classroom. She _was_ the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. She would have an idea what was going on. I could go to Dumbledore, too, if I had to. No reason to panic. Right? Right.

No. Wrong. Panic sounds good right about now.

Practically skidding and narrowly avoiding a headlong collision with the classroom's heavy oak door, I entered Tonks' room breathing a bit like an exhausted racehorse. My legs were tingling with a burning sensation, and my left knee was throbbing. I'd gotten into a fight at my old school around four years ago, and a well-placed kick and a painful fall down a flight of stairs had dislocated it. Add that to the fact that, since I'm stubborn like this, I'd refused to go to the nurse to have it fixed. Instead, I had a friend, Whitney, pop it back into place. I'd had to apologize to her later for kicking her in the face when she'd forced it back into the socket.

Unfortunately, Tonks wasn't he only one in the room.

Dumbledore, Snape, and another man were with her, and they seemed to have been arguing. The Headmaster looked rather tired, Snape appeared to be royally pissed off, and Tonks' face was flushed. The other man had a hand on her shoulder, looking solemn.

They has topped speaking when I'd burst in and, now, they all stared at me.

And they stared a bit more.

And stared.

And stared.

This was starting to feel awkward. "Um, Hello, Professors. Headmaster." The muscle in my knee began to spasm violently. I wasn't going to be able to walk properly for a while.

"Please wait outside, Miss Shoreglade, while we finish out discussion," Dumbledore requested, as polite as ever.

"I don't think I can," I muttered to myself. I tried to obey, turning around and attempting to walk away. My knee gave out on the first step. "Bloody son of a bitch!" I cursed as I collapsed. Bolts of pain were shooting up my leg.

I heard hurried footsteps, and then Tonks was kneeling beside me. Anxiously, she inquired, "What happened?"

"My knee…" I gasped out through the sheer agony. I didn't have to see my knee to know that I'd popped the joint again. I'm cursed. I have to be. I swallowed convulsively and added, "It's dislocated."

"How in the world did you manage that?" Tonks said, gently straitening my left leg.

"I ran all the way here. My knee didn't like that. So, it popped."

The mystery man and Dumbledore asked, "What was the rush?"

Tonks and my so-called father wanted to know something a little less important. "Why would knee pop so easily?"

I loathed answering any question that Snape asked me, so I answered the former. "I wanted to talk to T—Professor Tonks. I…" Damn it, they're not going to believe me. Oh, well. Not the first time. "I've been hearing this voice in my head. Ever since I was imprisoned Azkaban. At first, I just thought I was making it up, but… Well, I think it's a whole separate person. Not a split personality, you understand. I'm talking about an actual person who is talking to me. All the time."

I waited for them to ask me if I had a fever or if I'd hit my head. However, no one did. Imagine my surprise when the first response was Tonks looking over at Snape and saying, "I told you so."

Thoughtfully, Dumbledore peered down at me over his long nose. "Is this the same voice that has been telling you to hurt yourself?"

Good memory. He'd remembered my babbles from when I'd been carted off to the Infirmary.

I nodded absently as I watched Tonks fuss over my swelling knee. She pulled out her wand. "You didn't answer _my_ question. Why is your knee this weak?" she asked.

"Falling down stairs hurts like a bitch," I muttered darkly.

Sounding unconvinced, Snape asked, "You _fell_ down the stairs? How…unlikely."

"Well, it was more like I fell with help, but that's hardly relevant. Let's just say that having your friends doctor you is a bad idea and leave it at that," I announced. "Speaking of, Tonks, would you help me pop it back into place? I'd ask Madame Pomfry, but I'm not walking there any time soon."

"Pop it back in? Manually?" the woman inquired, looking horrified. "Not a chance."

I couldn't help but sight. "Okay, then. I guess I'll do it myself. Lovely." This said, I propped my left leg on chair and braced the top of my knee bone and took a deep breath. This was going to hurt, damn it. Pushing upward, I began to try to force the bone back into its rightful place.

Spears of white-hot agony ripped through my leg, but the stupid thing didn't pop back into the socket. I applied more force.

The bone slid into place with a disgusting combination between a click and a crunch. My entire leg throbbed and I was breathing erratically, but my knee was in the joint again. Hallelujah.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Tonks murmured faintly. She was turning a putrid shade of green. Literally.

The man I didn't know knelt next to me on one knee, pulling out his wand as he did. I noticed how gaunt he was and that he was as thin as I was. Which was painfully so. "Hold still," he told me in a soft voice. Pointing his wand at my rapidly swelling knee, he murmured, "_Furula_."

Bandages sprang from the wand's tip and neatly wrapped themselves around my leg. They were tight enough so that I won't be able to bend the joint when I stood. A good thing, since I knew from experience that doing so would hurt like a bitch.

I looked up into his dark gray eyes. "Thanks."

He smiled at me and politely replied, "Your welcome." He then turned so that he faced Tonks and adjusted his position so that he was close to her side. She watched him as if he was the only important thing in the world. Who knows, maybe, to her, he was.

"This only proves what I have been telling you, Headmaster," Snape commented icily. "No matter what _others _might say." The last seemed to be directed at Tonks and her friend.

Tonks' face rapidly changed from sickened to angry. "Are you calling him a liar, Snape?" she demanded.

"Now, Nymphadora—" the pale eyed man attempted. He was using a soothing tone of voice. I couldn't blame him. Tonks was scary as hell when she was pissed. Almost Snape-caliber.

"Shut up, Remus! I've had enough of his snide, sarcastic remarks!"

Dumbledore also bravely ventured to calm her. "Nymphadora, this is hardly the time for this conversation."

"Stop calling me Nymphadora! I _hate_ that name!"

Poor Nymph—I mean, Tonks… Whoops. Although, now that I think about it… It _is_ kind of funny. In an absurd way. I giggled quietly, eventually giving up any sense of tact and let myself laugh. Loudly.

I think I may have been slightly hysterical.

But only slightly.

"What is so funny, Samara?" Snape snapped, irritated.

"Oh, nothing." You all are only acting like petulant children while my sanity—well, what's left of it—is eaten away by some crazy bitch. No problem.

I was still on the floor while this was going on, so I had to crane my neck to see his face when I'd replied. This isn't working for me.

Standing up proved a challenge. But, after a couple of minutes, I was able to stand, albeit wobbly. "So…your little argument aside, I don't suppose there's anything you can tell me about what's happening to me, is there?"

They all exchanged glances. Some actions are louder than words, even if those actions are annoyingly cryptic.

The Headmaster turned his gentle blue gaze to me, speaking softly. "We have our suspicions, Samara. We will see what we can do. For now, go on with your usual activities and try to ignore this voice when she comes again. No matter what, you must end the reliance you've built up," he nodded pointedly to the faint scars that were still visible on the flesh of my forearms. "And you must find another way to end these visions. I believe that the hallucinations will leave you if you stop heeding to this voice."

"But you're not going to tell me any of the details." It wasn't a question. I already knew.

"That is not necessary for you to know at this point. What is important is that you do as I've told you. This voice knew exactly how to terrorize you and guessed correctly how you would react. In order to begin to break her hold on you, you must change your reactions."

I sank into the same chair that I had used a few moments earlier. This was not comforting. At all. I could have lived with being crazy. I really could have. But it seemed that I was wrong about the Voice… What else was I wrong about, I wonder? How do you know, how can you tell, what is real in a situation like this? Not only how, but why bother?

It didn't look like I was going to get those answers anytime soon.

(A.N.) If you want to see the story continue, or if you want me to let it die, drop me a review. Either way, your comments will be appreciated.


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